The Case of the Pen Pilferer
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Sherlock, from my Journey series, decides it is time for his wife to be made aware of the Sherlolly kiss theorized by Anderson years earlier and formulates a Bit Not Good plan to lure Anderson to Baker Street to explain it himself. Two-shot. Fits into my current "A Journey Through Molly's Diary" series but can be read alone. Lighthearted, fluffy, married Sherlolly.
1. The Devious, Bit Not Good Plan

Sherlock strode into the lobby of New Scotland Yard. He had barely had the opportunity to see Molly after she had returned home from nightshift, before he had to leave for his appointment with Greg Lestrade.

As soon as he entered, he noticed Philip Anderson leaning over the reception desk, obviously flirting with the receptionist, who was giggling.

Felicia was a new addition to the Yard, and he had only seen her a half dozen times. She was attractive, with short blonde hair, and to Sherlock's keen eyes, was clearly smitten with Anderson, as he was with her.

An annoying sound came from Philip's hand as he absently clicked and unclicked the end of a pen he was holding as he talked to her.

Felicia raised her eyes at Sherlock's entrance, as Philip straightened and looked mildly embarrassed.

"Good morning, Felicia. I have an appointment…"

"Yeah, Detective Inspector Lestrade is waiting for you," she interrupted him, nodding and jerking a thumb back towards the man's office.

"Thank you." As Sherlock walked past the reception desk, he noted suddenly that Anderson was clean-shaven for the first time in years. _Interesting, _he mused to himself, also catching a whiff of what was apparently a new cologne.

He still found it strange, walking down the corridor of the 'new' New Scotland Yard. The location change had only happened a couple weeks before his wedding.

Even as he knocked on the door to Greg's office, a larger one than the detective inspector had previously had, he heard another giggle behind him, as that annoying pen clicked and unclicked.

In the old days, Sherlock would have simply knocked and entered, but he was a more sensible, married man now, so he waited patiently until Greg called, "Come in."

Greg was sitting behind his desk, with innumerable papers strewn across it in front of him. "Thanks for coming, Sherlock."

Sherlock clasped his arms behind his back. "What's with the early-morning text? We discussed the details of the case last night and I was planning to ask John to come along with me this afternoon to the murder scene to look for clues."

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "There's been another murder, same modus operandi, different location. And now we have two more suspects. I need you to come with me to the second crime scene. The victim was home at the time, and apparently knew the suspect."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Intriguing. This case is definitely more appealing than it first appeared. Tell me everything you know, so we can get to work."

For the next half hour, Lestrade filled Sherlock in on the new aspects to the case, as well as the identities of the two new suspects.

Sherlock sat across from Lestrade on a chair, with his elbows on the desk and fingers steepled thoughtfully.

Finally he said, leaning back in the chair, "Well, I guess we had best take a look at this house. You say the neighbours were alerted by the barking of the dog?"

Greg shuffled some of the papers on his desk, looking for the right one. "That's right." He picked up the paper with the address in question.

As Sherlock stood and followed Greg out of his office, he heard that infernal clicking coming from Anderson's cubicle a short distance away.

The remainder of the day was spent in investigating the two crime scenes, then heading to the hospital to look at the bodies of the victims. Sherlock was quite disappointed that Molly was on nightshift this week, otherwise he could have spent time with her and asked her about the post-mortems, but no, they had been done by someone else.

Sherlock had texted John to ask if he was available, but his friend had a full workload this week at his doctor's practice.

Upon leaving the hospital, Sherlock and Greg returned to the Yard. Suspects were to be called in the following day, and Greg wanted Sherlock there.

By the time he arrived home, Molly was getting ready for work, and they hardly had a chance to even talk, let alone enjoy more than a welcome home kiss.

The following day, Sherlock headed out once again, soon after Molly came home from work. He felt as if they were ships passing in the night and begrudged it.

The three suspects, all known to the Metropolitan Police to be drug dealers, were interrogated, and it was Sherlock's sharp eyes that noticed the dog hair on the jacket of the one suspect, which connected him to the second murder and proved him to be the culprit.

"Next time you off a person for non-payment if outstanding debts, you should probably not use the same method that connects you to both crimes," Sherlock commented to the criminal who merely glared before he was taken away.

Sherlock was about to leave for home when he noticed that Anderson's cubicle was empty. That blasted pen was sitting at his desk, in front of his calendar, and on impulse, Sherlock swiped it. He looked at it and saw the engraved initials P. A. Oh yes, this was obviously a sentimental gift, and one which would be missed. He had a little plan to get Anderson to Baker Street. It would be a treat for Molly. With a secretive smile, Sherlock put the pen in his pocket and headed home.

On the way home, Sherlock sent a text to Greg, asking him to put a word in Anderson's ear, that Sherlock was available for consultation if needed.

The following day, Sherlock received a frantic text (he deduced the frantic nature by the number of exclamation points at the end of the text) from Anderson, asking for his assistance. Someone had stolen an object of great value belonging to him.

He sent a text back to Anderson.

_I would be happy to help you with your little problem. Please be at my residence at seven o'clock this Saturday evening._

Friday was a bit of a write-off for Sherlock, at least during the day. Molly had come home from nightshift with a rare headache and had spent most of the day in bed. Occasional trips to the bathroom due to her morning sickness, which did not limit itself to mornings, did not help matters. _Why is it called morning sickness anyway?_ Sherlock wondered to himself, not for the first time.

In the evening, Molly was feeling better and Sherlock related to her the details of a dream he had had the night before, in which he had been smart enough to realise he wanted Molly for himself after he had come to her for help in planning the correct alcohol consumption to prevent becoming intoxicated when traveling from pub to pub for John's stag night.

In the dream, Molly had broken off her engagement to Tom and they had become a couple instead. He had ended up proposing to her at John and Mary's wedding and the dream had ended in a lovely wedding night for both of them after they too were married.

As usual, the re-telling of the dream had let to them indulging in their own amorous pursuits, so the day wasn't a complete loss, Sherlock reflected, as he held Molly in his arms afterwards.

Molly's scheduling at the hospital after a week of nightshift always meant that she was scheduled to work the weekend that followed, because she had had a day off between shifts, so the next day she was up and off to work, thankfully headache and nausea-free.

On Saturday evening, after Molly returned home from work and they had eaten their dinner, Sherlock decided it was time to tell her of the impending visitor. They had just finished doing the dishes and settled themselves on the sofa, and Sherlock slid his arm around Molly's shoulders.

"I have a little treat for you this evening," he told her, squeezing her shoulder before kissing her cheek.

Molly turned her head to him dreamily and smiled. "Is it of the non-verbal communication type?" She leaned into him.

He chuckled. "I feel certain it will lead to that eventually, but not immediately."

She gave him a quizzical look. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"As it happens, I have a client coming at seven this evening."

Molly pulled away from him slightly and frowned. "Why would you set up a client consultation on the weekend, when we have barely seen each other all week?" She gave him a disappointed stare.

Sherlock swallowed. Perhaps this had not been the best idea after all. "Let me explain," he pleaded, placing his left hand over hers which was now sitting primly in her lap. "Remember at our wedding reception, when you asked me why Anderson credits himself with being the first person to pair us together?"

He felt Molly's hand relax somewhat. "Of course I remember. Are you going to finally tell me?"

"Well actually-" He hesitated, darting a glance at her hand and then her face, "I thought I'd get Anderson to tell you himself."

She shifted slightly closer again, laying her head against his shoulder. "Are you saying you invited him here to tell me himself?"

"Well..." Sherlock hedged. "Not exactly." He blew out a breath, then continued. "I kind of did something a Bit Not Good, in order to get him here." He flashed her a quick, apologetic smile.

She gave him a disapproving look, then sighed. "Tell me what you did." Her tone was flat, resigned.

He darted a glance at her again then looked away, feeling embarrassed. "I might have, uh, nicked his favourite pen so he would come to me for help to find out who took it."

Molly pulled away from him and stood up, then looked down at him. "Sherlock!" Her voice held the exact same note of disapproval that Mrs. Hudson's had when she was chastising him for putting body parts in the fridge. But really, where else was he supposed to store them? If he had left them on the counter they would have gone bad, and he simply didn't have time to do all of his experiments at one time.

He looked up at his five-foot-three wife, noticing that she had folded her arms. He really disliked it when he had to look up at Molly, used as he was to looking down at her. He enjoyed his superior height advantage.

He moved as if to stand, but she immediately stuck out her arms and pushed on his shoulders to keep him seated. "Oh no you don't. What on earth possessed you to do something like that? Why didn't you just ask him to come over for a visit?" She glowered at him and he cringed.

His Molly could be fierce when she wanted to be. "I thought it would be fun if he would tell you himself, the theory he had about me surviving the jump off Bart's roof, but I wasn't sure he would do it unless I could find a way to make him willing to explain it. It is a preposterous theory, after all, and he should really be embarrassed about it, even if he did strike upon a shred of truth in the way he thought you were part of it." He gave her a half-hearted grin, hoping she would see the funny side of it.

She didn't. Instead she gave him that same baleful glare. "And how are you proposing that you would get him to explain his theory, if it is so preposterous?" She crossed her arms once again, and Sherlock felt like a schoolboy who was in trouble for cheating on a test or putting glue on the teacher's chair.

He looked up into her eyes, then down again in shame. "I thought – well I thought I could make a deal with him; you know, if I could correctly deduce the object that was missing and why it held such sentimental value to him, that he would in turn tell you about that theory." He looked up at her again. "It does involve a rather steamy kiss between us," he ventured, hoping that would interest her.

He was relieved to see a glimmer of interest spark in her eyes. "A kiss, you say?" she asked.

He leaned forward, pressing his advantage, looking into the dark pools of her eyes. "A _steamy_ one, as I said."

She uncrossed her arms again and stared at him thoughtfully. Sherlock hastily stood, and this time she didn't push him back down but followed his movement with her eyes. Looking down at her from his superior height once again, he pulled her against him, rubbing his hands along her back.

She resisted for a moment, then capitulated, sliding her hands around his waist and resting her cheek against his thudding chest. "After he tells his theory, you're going to apologise for stealing his pen and return it immediately." She paused for a moment, then said, "Actually, you are going to return the pen and apologise first and he can choose whether to share his theory or not."

Sherlock kissed the top of her hair. "I promise, love." If people could see the way Molly could bend him to her wishes, they would probably think he was totally browbeaten. He didn't feel that way though. He just knew he would do _anything _for her, to keep her content, because he loved her. If that meant he was browbeaten, then so be it.

He raised his left arm up briefly to check his watch. There were still twenty minutes before Philip was due to arrive. Surely time enough to enjoy some steamy kissing while they waited?

Molly looked up at him questioningly, having felt the shift of his arm.

"Just checking the time." Her lips invited him and he lowered his head to press his lips against hers, moving a hand to the back of her head as he did so.

She let out a little contented murmur against his mouth and tightened her grip on his waist. He deepened the kiss, using his other hand to rub small circles on her back, keeping her close. He was beginning to regret inviting Anderson over, when he could be doing much more…_productive_ things with his wife.

With regret, he released his hold on Molly as the doorbell rang. Anderson was early. As usual, there was no need for Sherlock to get the outer door as the master- well, _mistress_ of the house, keeper of the keys, was on hand as usual to admit the visitor.

Molly straightened the client chair in preparation for Anderson to sit on it, then sat on the sofa, while Sherlock opened the door at Anderson's Knock.

"Come in, Anderson," said Sherlock, gesturing to the client chair. "I'll bet you are glad to not be here in order to look for drugs this time," he quipped. He pasted an insincere smile on his lips. The men would never really be friends, but he had his uses.

Philip Anderson walked over to the client chair and sat obediently, then looked expectantly at Sherlock. "So do I just go ahead and tell you what's going on?" he inquired, looking at Sherlock who had seated himself with Molly, rather than in his usual chair.

Sherlock crossed his legs and leaned forward. "Actually, Philip," he stressed the name to indicate they were on friendly terms, "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

**Author's note:** For a chronological timeline of this story, I refer you to my story, _A Journey Through Molly's Diary,_ the current story in my _Journey_ series. The dream Sherlock relates to Molly is another of my dream stories, _The Overly Long Engagement_, if you are interested in taking a look at it.

Thanks to a reader who informed me that New Scotland Yard changed premises in 2017, so this story includes that change of premises.

Well, well, Sherlock has a sneaky idea to let Molly know the details of that fabulous Sherlolly kiss we all love. I just had to do a story about this. Don't you agree that is the hottest kiss ever shown on television or even in a movie?

So, do you think Philip is going to be cross with Sherlock? Is he going to comply with Sherlock's wishes?

Share your thoughts in the review box below!


	2. The Sherlolly Kiss

Philip Anderson raised his eyebrows and looked a little nervous. "You? You have a proposition for _me_?"

Sherlock uncrossed his legs and sat slightly forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. "Indeed I do."

Anderson put his hand to his chin as if to stroke his beard, then suddenly realised he had shaved it off and dropped his hand again. "If you're going to ask me to hide evidence of something illegal in exchange for finding who stole my treasured item, I will not be party to that kind of thing." He made a move as if to stand, but Sherlock unsteepled his fingers and motioned for him to stay seated.

Then he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, do be sensible. I'm a married man now, I would hardly be dabbling in things outside of the law." He felt Molly put a hand on his knee and glanced at her before returning his gaze to Anderson. "Actually, it's more of a request I have for you."

Anderson scratched his head. "What sort of request?"

"I would like you to tell Molly about that crack pot-" here, Molly gave his knee a warning squeeze and he hastily amended it to, "I mean, _interesting_ theory you had about how I might have survived jumping off the roof at St. Bart's."

Anderson flushed and looked down, then mumbled at the floor, "I know it was ridiculous, but at least I got one thing right, Molly did help you."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "Indeed she did, and she is most anxious to learn why you take credit for being the first, as people like to say, _Sherlolly shipper_."

Anderson looked up and glanced from Sherlock to Molly then grimaced. "I really don't feel comfortable talking about that."

Sherlock returned to steepling his fingers. "Indeed, I expected you to say that. So I am proposing a deal." He paused, looking at Molly who still had her hand on his knee, and a calm expression on her face. "I thought...that if I could deduce the item that has been stolen, and the reason for its sentimental value, that I might be able to persuade you to tell Molly the story." He lifted a brow at Anderson expectantly.

Anderson shifted uncomfortably in the chair, thought a moment, then nodded. "It's a deal. If you are able to do all that fancy stuff and figure out what happened to my missing item, I'll tell Molly my theory." His voice held a note of resignation in it by the end, as if he knew Sherlock would be able to do just that.

Molly spoke up then. "Thank you Philip. I really am most anxious to hear all about this theory. Sherlock has been teasing me with it." She gave Anderson a sweet smile, then patted Sherlock's knee and looked at him encouragingly. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Start your deductions."

_Start your deductions._ Sherlock suddenly had a flashback of being in a room with a coffin, and his sister saying those same words to him as he attempted to figure out the puzzle. The coffin that was meant for Molly. He shuddered involuntarily then focused once more on the task at hand. Without realising he was doing it, his hand came down to cover Molly's and thread his fingers through hers in an unconscious gesture of protection.

He cleared his throat, looked at Philip and began. "The object that has disappeared is obviously of sentimental value, as opposed to monetary value. When I was at the Yard a couple days ago, I saw you conversing with Felicia at the front desk. I perceive the two of you are now in a relationship?" He lifted a brow in question, and Anderson nodded his confirmation.

Furthermore, I observed that you were holding a pen, which you continued to click and unclick - annoyingly, might I add."

Molly nudged his shoulder with hers and murmured, "Keep to the facts, honey."

Sherlock glanced at her then back at Anderson. "This relationship is a relatively new one. Several weeks ago you attended my wedding unaccompanied and you had a beard. Since then you have shaved it off for somebody. Apparently Felicia likes her men clean-shaven."

Here, Philip nodded again and folded his arms. "I fail to see what my relationship with Felicia has to do with my missing object."

Sherlock ran his free hand through his hair. "I am applying context to explain why the object is of sentimental value to you. As I mentioned, you were holding the pen. It is apparent to me that your pen was stolen, and that it was a gift from your girlfriend, was it not?" He raised an eyebrow at the other man, then continued. "The pen, although relatively inexpensive, is monogrammed with your initials which makes it a sentimental gift, and a perfectly appropriate one for a couple still in the early stages of a romantic relationship."

Anderson leaned forward now, "Right so far, can you deduce when I got it?"

Sherlock yawned and looked bored. He recalled seeing a date circled on Anderson's desk calendar for the previous Friday. "She gave it to you for your birthday last Friday."

Anderson's jaw dropped open. "Bloody hell…" he sputtered, "How could you have known that?"

Sherlock darted a sidelong glance to Molly and said out of the corner of his mouth, "He had the date circled on his calendar." He knew by the upward tilt to her lips that she had heard him.

Philip scratched his head again and Sherlock wondered idly if the man was suffering a lice infestation, then dismissed it. Merely a nervous habit, he surmised. "Well, that's all well and good, but if you want me to tell Molly my theory, you need to figure out what happened to the bloody pen." He crossed his legs and gave Sherlock a haughty look.

Sherlock smiled. "I'll be right back." He released Molly's hand and stood, then walked to the kitchen and opened the miscellaneous drawer. He withdrew the pen from it, then returned to the sitting room and handed it to Anderson. "Here is your pen. Now go ahead and tell Molly about that ridic-, I mean _interesting_ theory." He smirked at the other man and returned to his place next to his wife.

Anderson clicked and unclicked his pen several times and examined it, as Sherlock looked at him smugly, then winced in annoyance at that incessant clicking noise.

Finally, Philip looked up and stared at Sherlock. "So this was an elaborate hoax to get me over here in order for me to tell Molly all about that theory?" He looked irritated.

Sherlock leaned back and folded his arms. "Perhaps you will recall the hoax you perpetuated about Jack the Ripper." He heard Molly's gasp of astonishment and turned to look at her.

"You never told me Anderson set up that hoax!" Her tone was reproachful.

Sherlock cast his mind back briefly to that day, the one that had begun so well when he had been working with Molly, yet had ended so badly when he had discovered she was engaged to another man. He slid his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I'm sorry, love," he said in a low voice. "The topic just never came up, but yes, it was Anderson who set the thing up." He raised his voice slightly and directed his next comment at the other men. "Not a good thing to waste police time that way."

Philip twirled his pen like a baton in his hand, then muttered, "I guess that makes us even."

"Not quite," Sherlock told him with a self-satisfied smile. "Now it's your turn to explain that theory to my wife."

Anderson sighed, then blew out a deep breath. He addressed Molly, who had returned to resting a hand lightly on Sherlock's knee. "Well I kind of had this idea that Sherlock had a bungee cord attached to the back of his coat when he jumped off the roof."

Molly gave a little chuckle of amusement. "A bungee cord? Don't you think John would have seen something like that if it had been attached to Sherlock?"

Philip frowned and shifted his gaze to the floor, then back at Molly "Well, I think you'll like the next bit at least."

Sherlock listened with an amused smile as Philip continued. "When the bungee cord reached its full extension, it sprang back and Sherlock crashed through a window where you we're waiting for him."

Molly twirled a piece of hair absently around her finger. "If that had happened, wouldn't there have been some glass on the pavement? I imagine there would also have been quite a lot of noise at the sound of glass breaking." She smirked.

Anderson flushed. "Now you know why I didn't want to tell you. But I did think you had something to do with it. The next part of my theory was that Sherlock came through the glass window and detached the cord, ran his fingers through his hair to get rid of any extra glass," here he darted a glance at Sherlock before shifting his focus back to Molly, "and then he took hold of either side of your head with those big hands of his and snogged you before leaving you standing there." He looked at Sherlock "Do I need to tell her the rest?"

Sherlock gave him a lazy grin. "Oh, I think you explained the most important part, that I apparently snogged Molly." Turning his head towards her, he added softly, "I still hate that word."

Molly grinned at him, and then her expression suddenly changed as her face paled. She stood quickly with a mumbled, "excuse me," then put her hand to her mouth and made a beeline for the bathroom. Sherlock stood to follow her, then stopped, realising it would be rude to just leave Anderson sitting there.

Philip furrowed his brow. "I would have thought she would have enjoyed the snogging bit I imagined between you two."

"She's quite all right," Sherlock reassured him, nevertheless keeping a watchful eye aimed towards the kitchen to wait for her return.

Suddenly Philip narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Her getting sick out of the blue like that, it's a bit odd, isn't it?"

Sherlock merely shrugged and responded nonchalantly, "Is it?" not looking at Anderson.

He heard the sudden inhalation of breath and a soft, "Ohhhh," as Anderson, for once, put two and two together and came up with four.

"You've gone and got her pregnant already, haven't you?" said the man, all of a sudden sounding very confident. "Bloody hell, that was fast." There was a note of admiration in his voice.

There was a twist to his lips as Sherlock gave Anderson an approving glance. "Apparently you no longer lower the IQ of the whole street." It was funny how he could still remember comments like that which he had made so many years earlier.

Molly walked back in at that moment. "What was it you were saying about IQ, Sherlock?" She asked him with a puzzled look at both men.

Phillips smirked. "It seems your husband's opinion of me has actually improved. Congratulations, by the way." He returned to twirling his pen in his fingers.

Molly walked over to slip her hand into Sherlock's, then stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Did you tell him?"

"Surprisingly, no. He figured it out for himself," Sherlock responded, squeezing her hand.

Philip stood, carefully placing his precious pen into his pocket. "Well, I guess I'll be going now."

Molly released Sherlock's hand and moved to stand in front of Anderson. "Would you please keep our secret for now?" she asked him quietly. "It's still very early stages, so we aren't letting people know quite yet."

Philip gave her a nod and smile. "Seeing as it is _you_ who is asking, I'll keep your secret." He cast a sly glance over at Sherlock, Who rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Thank you, Philip," said Molly sincerely. "And I wish you all the best with your new girlfriend as well."

"Thank you." Sherlock was surprised when Anderson decided to tell Molly something else. "You know, while Sherlock was gone, I founded a club so other people could talk about their theories, because I didn't believe he was dead. I called it _The Empty Hearse_."

Sherlock was aware of this, he'd seen Philip's wall that day when he had gone to tell him how he had survived, and to say he knew Philip had been the person who had been responsible for the Jack the Ripper hoax, but he had never thought to tell Molly about it.

Molly looked at the other man with interest. "Other people thought he was alive too?"

Anderson nodded. "You'd be surprised how many of us believed that, and also believed in his innocence. There was even one guy who occasionally came to meetings who styled his hair like Sherlock and walked around in a coat like his, he was really quite the fan, you know. He even knotted his scarf the same way." He looked at Sherlock appraisingly. "I rather fancy he was a bit taller than you, though."

Sherlock and Molly shot a glance at one another. "Uh," ventured Molly, "I don't suppose you remember the man's name, do you?"

Philip thought a moment. "It was something like Tim or Todd...oh that was it - Tom!" he finished triumphantly. "I remember thinking if he wouldn't sweep his hair off to the side like Sherlock he would have looked like that classic Doctor Who from the seventies who was also named Tom - Tom Baker," he confided.

Molly's mouth dropped open slightly and Sherlock said vaguely, "How interesting." He quickly ushered a slightly discombobulated Philip to the door. "Yes, well, thanks for coming. See you at the Yard again soon I'm sure."

"Er yes, I'll see you later," agreed Philip, before he exited.

Once he had gone, Sherlock looked at Molly. "That was most illuminating, wasn't it?"

Molly nodded slowly. "It certainly was."

"Did Tom ever tell you he was a fan of mine?" he asked curiously.

Molly blinked as if her thoughts had been elsewhere, and then focussed on him.

"I knew he admired you. When John invited us for drinks after you solved that case, and he said I should bring my fiancé, I asked Tom if he wanted to come. That's when he said he was amazed and impressed I knew you." She furrowed her brow. "Come to think of it, I vaguely remember being at his parents' place with him when the news broke about you not being a fraud after all." She paused again, obviously trying to think back. "I wasn't really paying attention because I was too relieved that your name had been cleared, and then I was wondering if you were still out there somewhere. I seem to recall Tom making a comment like he just knew you couldn't have been a fraud, you'd solved too many cases for that."

"Rather ironic isn't it, that now we find out the man you planned to marry reminded you of me because he _wanted_ to look like me," commented Sherlock, sliding his arms around her.

Her face looked a little pinched as she looked up at him. "If he hadn't been dressed like you with the same hair, I would never have noticed him in the first place."

He stroked her face gently. "That's all in the past, love. Just another little piece of trivia to add to my mind palace room of useless information." He would have offered her a reassuring kiss, but she twisted her head away and extricated herself from his embrace. "What's wrong? Has that news about Tom upset you? It doesn't bother me in the least."

Molly gave him a wry smile. "It's not that. I thought it might be an idea to brush my teeth before you kiss me, seeing as I just emptied the contents of my dinner into the toilet."

Sherlock made a little grimace. "Oh, yes, that does sound like a good idea. While you're at it, I might as will brush mine as well." His lips twitched. "Anyway, I thought we might try to re-create that rather hot sounding kiss Anderson talked about."

Molly smiled and they walked together to the bathroom.

They both brushed their teeth vigorously with the mint toothpaste they favoured, then returned to the sitting room. Sherlock could see that Molly had regained her colour. "So, you are feeling okay now, I take it?" he asked, stroking a hand lightly down her arm.

She flashed him a smile. "Perfectly fine for now. So where are we going to do this Anderson kiss?"

Sherlock cringed. "Let's not call it the Anderson kiss. Let's call it the _Sherlolly_ kiss, and I have an idea."

He took her hand and led her towards the window closest to his chair. "Seeing as I supposedly crashed through the window, this seems like an appropriate spot, don't you agree?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Works for me. Are you going to ruffle your hair first to remove the imaginary glass?" She smirked at him.

Sherlock huffed. "If I must." He walked until he was right beside the window then turned to face her. "Ready?"

Molly was standing a few paces from him. "Ready. I suppose seeing as we cannot really smash the glass, you should just start with that hair ruffle." She giggled.

Sherlock felt slightly foolish, but he had been the one to propose the re-enactment of that perceived kiss, so he had to follow through. Molly stood patiently and waited.

Sherlock did a mental countdown in his head - _three - two - one, and action._ He raised his hands to his head and slid his fingers through his curls, imagining he was shaking out the glass. Then he closed the distance between Molly and himself.

She smiled up at him as he gently laid a hand on either side of her head. _Bloody hell, Anderson was right,_ he reflected silently. _I do have big hands._ They engulfed the sides of Molly's head as he bent down and kissed her sweet lips, feeling that familiar sensation of warmth overcome him as he did so. His lips were gentle at first, then as he felt Molly instinctively put her own hands up around his neck, his kiss became more insistent, more demanding. Instead of breaking away from her as Anderson had said he had done, he continued to kiss her, feeling the softness of her lips, experiencing the intoxicating hint of mint aftertaste from the toothpaste they had both used.

And as they stood there in their embrace, he felt the flames of passion rising as they always did when he kissed his wife. Molly gave a little sigh of pleasure and he remembered how that had always been his cue to stop when they were engaged, so that things didn't get out of control between them. It was most gratifying to know he didn't need to do that anymore, and they had all night.

When their lips parted, they were both breathing hard. Instead of walking away and leaving her as Anderson had theorised, Sherlock picked Molly up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Even as he did so, Sherlock knew that this was definitely a better way to end the scene, not with him walking away from the woman who counted, but with him holding her in his arms to love her as she deserved to be loved, as she would always be loved by him, for the rest of their lives.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to this little story. What did you think of Sherlock and Molly's re-creation of the Sherlolly kiss we all love? I just had to write this! How about that reveal about Tom? I don't know about you, but the fact that he looked so similar to Sherlock in hairstyle and clothes always seemed a bit odd, so I was wondering - what if he _wanted _to look like Sherlock? Do you like my theory? Now that it is part of my Sherlock and Molly's story, this is my personal canon backstory for Tom.

If you enjoyed this latest little story of mine, please do take the time to hit that favourite/follow button and leave a review. I'd love to hear any theories my readers might have about Tom and his resemblance to Sherlock as well.


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